


It's a Date

by arituzz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Best Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arituzz/pseuds/arituzz
Summary: Five times Baz has to bite his lips in order to refrain himself and one time he doesn't.ORFive times Simon doesn't mean it and one time he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eroticgropefest (goldfishsunglasses)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishsunglasses/gifts).



> Written for the Carry On Secret Santa 2016, and inspired by the Carry On Countdown prompt: Date Night.  
> I hope you like your gift, Katie <3

The first time he does it, it’s completely unconscious.

It’s summer and they’ve been moving furniture from the Pitch Mansion to Baz’s new apartment with Fiona. Snow is in a tank top, all covered in sweat and his cheeks flushed red from exhaustion.

Baz hands him a bottle of water, his fingers resting a moment longer than necessary on Simon’s skin, and the world is suddenly too hot and his pants too tight.

Baz blames the tank top.

They’ve been friends since they were twelve. The kind of friends that bicker all the time and mock each other. The kind of friends that would either die for or murder each other, depending on the mood they find themselves in.

They are best friends.

Platonic displays of affection aren’t unusual between them –  shaking hands, laying one’s head on the other’s shoulder, a gentle squeeze, a hand lingering on the other’s arm or thigh, and even casually sharing a quick hug.

Touching has never been an issue, and if they were crossing any sort of line neither of them seemed to mind.

Until now, that is.

Simon rests his hand on Baz’s shoulder—like he’s done so many times before—and Baz is all of a sudden hyper aware of their closeness. And he can’t help but wonder whether the amount of touching between the two is actually platonic at all. At least from his behalf.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Simon asks, seemingly unsuspecting of his best friend’s distress. “Buy me a pizza or something?”

Baz clears his throat and says, “Wanna go to the Mages?”, trying to sound naturally.

“Cool,” Simon says, and then he adds, “It’s a date.”

And Baz is almost stupid enough to believe it.

He looks at Simon, all sweaty and fucking _hot_ , and thinks about what would happen if he stepped closer and kissed him.

No. Simon is his friend. His best friend. Nothing more. It’s just a casual expression. And Baz is just confused.

Baz bites his lip and resolves to bury that thought in the depths of oblivion.

* * *

 

The second time happens at class.

It’s between lessons and Simon is copying Baz’s homework – typical. They take the same classes and sit side by side in all of them, which has always been a good thing. And yes, it still is. Except it’s maybe _too_ good.

It doesn’t help that Simon pushes their homework aside, stretches himself out with a yawn, and rests his head on Baz’s lap. Definitely not helpful at all.

And Simon is right there, in all his delightful drowsiness, lips invitingly parted. No. He’s just a mouth breather. His eyes are closed and Baz would think he’s actually sleeping if he didn’t murmur, “Baz, let’s go to your place later.” Simon doesn’t wait for Baz to reply before adding, “It’s a date.”

 _A date_ , again.

And Simon’s lips are hanging open and not before long Baz realises he’s actually leaning closer.

Fuck.

Baz shuts his eyes close, trying not to think about the fact that Simon’s touch stirs something in his gut he isn’t prepared for, and leans his head back up, biting his lip. But deluding his mind is one thing; fooling his body, an entirely different matter.

And there it is, undeniable and unforgiving. A boner. And despite their friendship being as intimate as it is, Baz is almost sure a boner doesn’t fit in the category of “friendly displays of affection”.

Baz tries to steady his breathing, turning his hands into fists, and wishes for Simon not to notice. Or for the Earth to swallow him whole. He isn’t ready to test whether it’s physically possible to die of embarrassment.

Luckily for him, Miss Possibelf arrives to give her lesson, causing Simon to bolt upright. She already caught him sleeping in class once, and the punishment wasn’t nice.

Simon doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lesson. Baz pushes the thought to the back of his mind but it bounces back front. There’s no denying it anymore – he’s hopelessly attracted to his best friend.

* * *

 

The third time it happens, he’s blissfully alone.

He’s at home, slouching on the couch while reading a book.

And then Baz’s phone rings. He sees _Snow_ written on the screen and immediately picks up the call.

Baz isn’t able to mutter half a “Hi” when Simon blurts out, “Davy is sort of forcing me to go to one of those stupid banquets he likes to hold and I need you to come with me to piss him off, yeah?” Then stops for a second, and adds, “Also, hi.”

Baz can’t fight the smile drawing in his face. Nor the increase in his heart rate. Nor the stupid feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

“Okay,” Baz manages to say, biting his lower lip.

“It’s a date,” Simon says and hangs up.

A banquet, with Simon. A date. 

(More like, a business meeting, with his best friend. _Not a date_.)

Baz is still beaming when Fiona comes in from work. She settles beside him on the couch, boredly zapping the TV channels. “Why are you smiling like an idiot?” she asks, mildly surprised. “Got yourself a bloke?”

“Something like that,” Baz replies without adding any detail. And he wishes that was true.

* * *

 

The fourth time, they are in said banquet.

Baz has just arrived there and Simon is at the other end of the room, wearing a grey suit.

And it’s severely unfair that Simon is so stunning in a grey suit. Well, Simon is stunning in anything. Simon is stunning wearing _nothing_ , too, Baz’s traitor mind adds.

Simon meets Baz’s gaze and smiles fondly at him. A smile that drives Baz crazy in more ways than one.

Baz imagines running to his best friend and kissing that smile away. Right there, in the middle of the party. That would definitely piss Davy off.

But Baz is unable to move an inch, and just waits for Simon to reach him.

“Hey,” he says. “Nice suit.”

“Hey,” Simon replies. “Yeah, yours too.”

Baz spots a glass of wine on Simon’s hand, and realises his cheeks are slightly red. He’s tipsy.

“Can I crash at yours, later?” Simon asks.

Baz wants to take him in his arms and tell him that everything will be alright, but all he says is, “Sure. Davy being an arse again?”

“Yeah,” Simon says, averting his eyes. And then he adds, “It’s a date, then.”

Baz knows better than to pry more. He bites his lower lip and lets Simon guide him to the middle of the room.

* * *

 

The fifth time happens immediately after the party.

Simon is smashed and can barely walk, so Baz brings him to his apartment. He lends him one of his best pajamas and trusts him to change himself, then leaves him there in his room and goes for the bathroom.

When he steps out, Baz almost faints at the sight of Simon laying on his bed: Disheveled hair. Baz’s pajama bottoms. Bare chest. Jaw-fucking-dropping. Ah, the exquisite burden of being Simon Snow’s best friend.

“Baz, let’s stay in all day tomorrow,” Simon mumbles, half asleep.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Baz says, settling beside him on the bed.

Baz thinks Simon is already asleep when he murmurs, “It’s a date.”

Baz wonders, if he kissed him now, would he remember it tomorrow? Would he even notice now? Probably not, considering the state he’s in.

The temptation is overwhelming.

But it would be like taking advantage of him, and Baz is not _that guy_. Or is he? No. No, he’s not.

Baz bites his lower lip hard—it’s starting to get dangerously sore. And watches Simon sleep.

* * *

 

The following day, Simon sleeps in. Like, _really_ in. It’s not until five in the afternoon when he wakes up. The boy so needed the sleep, and Baz couldn’t bring himself to wake him. (He’d been quite busy staring at him.)

“Fuck, my head is burning,” Simon says with a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Late o’clock,” Baz responds, because he knows it makes Simon smile.

And Simon does smile. “Screw it, I don’t want to go back there.”

“You don’t have to,” Baz says, bringing his fingers to Simon’s face, faintly tracing circles around his moles.

“Can I stay here?” Simon asks.

Baz closes his eyes, unconsciously drawing closer to Simon, his fingers memorising Simon’s skin. He can feel Simon’s breath on his face when he realises what he’s doing.

He opens his eyes, only inches apart from Simon. “Forever,” he says.

It’s not easy—nothing worthwhile ever is—but Baz closes the distance between them and brushes Simon’s lips.

Simon stays frozen for a moment.

But, of course, it was too good to be true. Simon bolts upright, confused. “B- Baz? Wh- what…?” he blurts out, in all his exuberant stuttering.

“Simon…” Baz can practically feel Simon’s body shaking, panic written all over his face. “Simon say something. I can literally feel you freaking out right now.”

“Yeah. I–” Simon starts, leaving the room. “I have to… go.”

“Simon, wait!” Baz shouts, walking after Simon, who’s reaching for the apartment door now. “You’re in my pajama bottoms,” he says, to himself, because Simon’s already gone.

Baz waits for Simon to come back for his clothes. Five, ten, twenty, forty minutes. One hour.

Two hours.

The doorbell rings.

Baz hasn’t moved an inch in two hours. He’s been lying on the floor, his back leaning against the door. He’s not sure if it’s been his imagination or if there is really someone on the other side of the door.

The doorbell rings again.

Baz finds strength to open the door somehow. It’s Simon. “Your clothes are–” Baz starts, but he’s abruptly interrupted. By Simon’s mouth.

Simon kisses him for what seems to be just a second, and then meets his eyes. There is a momentaneous hint of doubt, followed by a sparkle of unmistakable _want_.

And then he kisses him again.

Simon takes Baz’s face between both his hands, holding it in place, and pushes him back. Lips against lips. Baz lets Simon guide him to the couch, their mouths never letting go one another. Baz’s hands settle on Simon’s hair, desperately pulling at it. God, he’s wanted to do that for _so long_.

They fall onto the couch, Simon on top of Baz, madly devouring each other. Baz runs his hands through Simon’s back, caressing his skin. He can’t believe this is actually happening. Wait, could this be a dream? Simon moans at Baz’s touch, which makes the whole situation even more unreal.

“Are _you_ panicking right now, Baz?” Simon asks, letting go of Baz’s mouth.

Is _he_ panicking? Baz strokes Simon’s cheeks with his hands. Then his shoulders and arms. Then his chest. His stomach. The small of his back.

No, he’s not panicking. Just making a reality check. He reaches back up for Simon’s mouth, softly meeting his lips. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Simon,” he says.

“Baz. Let’s watch a movie tonight,” Simon suggests, smiling.

Baz bites back a smile, before saying, “It’s already tonight.”

“I know.”

“Sure, whatever you like.”

“Well, _I like_ seeing you struggling to keep your shit together,” Simon says, and bites Baz’s lower lip. “ _I like_ when you bite your lips.”

“You’re insufferable,” Baz snaps, succumbing to the smile.

“Yeah. But you like suffering me.”

“I do,” Baz agrees, meeting Simon’s lips again.

“It’s a date, then” Simon says, against Baz’s lips. “For real.”

 

-FIN-


End file.
